When Questioner arrived she was in a state, as she confessed to Mouche. A mood, Mouche thought of it. Despite the fact that all concerned had managed to avert a tragic outcome of the Quaggian Dilemma (thus far), Questioner had not come away from the episode feeling either satisfied or relieved. Indeed, if anything, she was more irritable and exasperated than before.
Mouche did not let it pass. “It is clear to me you are sad and irritable,” he said, dealing them each five cards, the last one face up, “because the beings from whom you were made are in great pain and terror, and you know this even if you do not feel it.”
“How do you know?” she demanded, regarding her exposed king of shovels with a scowl. “Did Ornery tell you?”
Mouche had a ten of love showing, and he made a face as he picked up the facedown cards and arranged them in his hand. “Not until later, but Flowing Green knew all about it. She saw you in your maintenance booth. She heard you talking to your inward persons. You have a deep pain there, but it need not remain.”
“Is your Timmy recommending a cerebrectomy?” Questioner sneered.
Mouche gave her a look so patient as to be almost patronizing. “No, Flowing Green and I recommend only the removal of unpleasant memories and the substitution of some happy feelings. We can be at the Fauxi-dizalonz in an hour in your shuttle, and Bofusdiaga has already agreed that the parts of you needing surcease are organic parts that it can work with.”
“Why should I do that?” she asked, astonished by this suggestion. “I’ve done well enough so far.”
“You have,” he agreed. “But until just recently, you were unaware of the tragedy you carry inside you. Mathilla, M’Tafa, and Tiu cannot be freed of pain until you help them. Bofusdiaga can not only free them, he can also grant them happiness.”
She gritted her teeth. Learning of the three from an outside source had brought them into her memory banks by a route HoTA had never intended. All her baffles and wards had been outflanked and the lives and deaths of the three indwelling minds had been resurrected in herself.
“They are no longer severed from your consciousness,” said Mouche, accurately reading her face. “It is their anger and agony you feel on a daily basis, hour by hour.”
“I can bear it,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Of course you can bear it,” he said. “The question is, why should anyone bear it? Bearing it does no one any good, least of all you. Like the jongau, you’ll come to survive on hatred, and like the jongau, you’ll disintegrate. I remember what Corojum said about living in the past. And I remember that when we spoke with Timmys who had themselves been killed by men and later resurrected in the Fauxi-dizalonz, none of them remembered the terror or horror. They knew about it, yes, but they did not feel it. So, when you have been in the Fauxi-dizalonz, you will know about your indwellers, but you will not feel their pain.”
She stared at him, examining him with all her senses. Nothing there now of the quivering boy who had accompanied her on the underground river. And the green hair was certainly unusual, as was his hybrid facial appearance. Slightly lofty. Like a minor angel. Though he sounded very little different from before, he thought quite differently, she could tell.
“It’s not the same,” she murmured.
“It is the same,” he asserted. “In recent time I have come to understand that, Questioner. Flowing Green has observed that the true story of any living thing has pain in it, and life has to be that way. Curiosity is a good goad, but pain is a better one. It is pain that moves us, that makes us learn how to cure, how to mend, how to improve, how to re-create. Inside all of us, even the happiest, are memories of pain. Ellin, Bao, Ornery … they all had hurt children inside them. We came to know one another’s pain during our adventure in the chasm. Each of us cries that we are lost. We ask the darkened room, who are we? And we demand easy answers: I am my father’s son. My mother’s daughter. A child of this family, or that.”